The Dark I Know Well
by Lillielle
Summary: Hermione's home life sucks. When Snape finds out her worst nightmare, can he help her? Mentor fic with SS/HG, maybe turning into something more. A/U, Abused!Hermione, Voldemort dead, Harry lives with the Weasleys. I do not own HP!
1. Chapter 1: Hermione at Home

A/N: Hermione's home life sucks, to put it mildly. When Snape forces her to experience her worst nightmare, can he help her through it? HG/SS mentor fic, possibly turning into something more. A/U: Harry has been rescued from the Dursleys and is now living with the Weasleys. Voldemort is dead. Set during Hermione's fifth year.

**Chapter One: Hermione at Home**

Hermione closed her eyes and sniffled, curling around her pillow. She'd only been home from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and already she missed it. It was only for Christmas break, but it felt like a lifetime. Even though this was the middle of her fifth year, she still felt like a first-year student sometimes, wide-eyed with wonder that magic really did exist.

It certainly didn't at home. It hadn't since her mother fell ill. No one could say for sure what was wrong with her. She'd gone to specialist after specialist. Hermione had even surreptitiously scoured books full of healing charms and diagnostic spells, looking up every Muggle and magical disease she could think of. Nothing came close to her mother's symptoms. There might be more in the Restricted Section, but she didn't dare look there again. Not after the disaster with the Polyjuice Potion second year.

_Stupid girl_, she chastised herself, remembering that. A blush of shame colored her cheeks. She still couldn't believe she hadn't realized the hair she'd plucked off Millicent Bullstrode's robes was a cat hair. It's not like humans had fur. What had she been thinking?

Her bedroom door creaked open and she froze, her eyelids pressing tightly together in a desperate attempt to feign sleep.

"I know you're awake, baby girl," came her father's slurred whisper. Not tonight, she whispered to herself. Please, not again...

"Yes, Daddy," she admitted, knowing her punishment would be worse if she continued to just lie there. He stumbled across the room and landed heavily on her bed, crushing her legs beneath his weight. She bit back a surprised scream. If she woke up her mother, he would hurt her badly.

"Come on, sweetheart, let's get you out of that nightgown," he mumbled in her ear. Her blood froze. He pulled the blanket down, revealing her long, bare legs. Hermione had started filling out this year and she hated it. She hated the new fullness to her body, the way her hips and chest had started to swell and curve. She didn't particularly enjoy being a frizzy-haired stick, but it was far, far better than the alternative.

He pulled her underwear off. Her father refused to let her wear anything but childish underwear. Underwear patterned with Disney characters, or printed with flowers and butterflies. The implications of that creeped Hermione out, so she refused to think about it for long. It didn't matter, anyway. Nobody would care.

It was a harsh truth for a fifteen-year-old to face, but she knew it. Her own father had told her when she was just seven years old and he'd started touching her for the first time, that it didn't matter if she told anyone because it was normal. Nobody would come to her rescue. The knight riding up on a white horse? Purest fantasy. And now, even at Hogwarts, she knew that the important one was Harry. Hadn't Dumbledore believed him when he said the Dursleys were abusive and put him under the guardianship of the Weasleys? She bet he was happy now. The Dursleys hadn't deserved him, anyway. She'd seen them at the train station. Rotten people. The worst sort of Muggle-or witch or wizard, for that matter.

Hermione felt her father's fingers now, sliding roughly between her legs. It hurt in a vague sort of way. He wasn't particularly gentle. He never had been, even when she was a little girl.

_Think of something else, think of something else_, she chanted in her mind as he shoved her legs apart and settled between them. Her father had stolen her virginity when she was eleven. Right before she received her letter from Hogwarts, as a matter of fact. It had been the next day that an owl swooped in and changed her life.

Tears came involuntarily to Hermione's eyes, even locked away in her mind as she was. The pain always got to her. He was massive, stabbing into her weak, defenseless body. She dug her nails into her palms, drawing blood in half-moon shapes.

_It won't be long now_, she reminded herself as he came inside her with a grunt, collapsing to one side. Just two more weeks. _Then I'll be back at Hogwarts. I'll be safe._

But Hermione wondered if she ever really could be safe again. She doubted it.


	2. Chapter 2: Hermione in Potions Class

**Chapter Two: Hermione in Potions Class**

"We shall be brewing something particularly complex today," Professor Severus Snape's voice cut through the haze in Hermione's head. She stiffened. How could she have let her attention lapse? Furiously, she returned to scribbling notes. Her head ached, but that was normal. She'd always suffered from tension headaches. Lately, they seemed to be getting worse. There was still a throbbing pain between her legs. She wished that she could ask Madam Pomfrey for a pain potion, but she didn't dare. Perhaps she could sneak into Professor Snape's stores? No, that was a worse idea than asking the school nurse, she decided, shifting her position with a slight wince.

"This potion must be brewed correctly," Snape informed them in his cold, precise tones. His eyes seemed to stab into Hermione's and she blinked and looked away, a flush overcoming her features. "If brewed properly, one taste will let you experience your greatest dreams. If brewed incorrectly however, it will let you experience your worst nightmare." From the smirk that came over his face, Hermione decided that he was hoping all his students brewed it wrong. At least Gryffindor wasn't sharing Double Potions with Slytherin anymore. Instead, hapless Hufflepuff had come under fire.

Harry was Hermione's partner today. He shot her a quick smile as he pushed up his glasses and trotted to the supply cupboard. She busied herself with laying out the instruments required for the potion. Her knife, mortar and pestle, and cauldron lay gleaming and ready for use.

"The potion is supposed to be a mild lavender in color," Snape informed them, talking over the din. "If it is any other color, it is wrong and shall produce the effects I described earlier."

"I swear that slimy git wants us to fail," Harry muttered as he tipped the ingredients onto the desk next to the cauldron.

"Harry, shush, he'll hear you," Hermione admonished quietly, but she had to admit her own thoughts had paralleled his. Snape had mellowed some since learning of Harry's abuse and neglect at the hands of his Muggle relatives, but he was still a snarky git. She hated to label her own professor that way, but it did seem to be true.

Thirty minutes later, their potion was bubbling merrily. It was quite lavender, a fact that Snape noticed with a dark scowl.

"Good, Potter. Granger," he forced out through gritted teeth as he continued to examine the students' work. Hermione and Harry shared a quick smile. It was rare to get praise from their Potions professor; they had to savor it.

Disaster came five minutes later. It was just time to add the lacewings, only two, when Neville Longbottom's cauldron gave a great bubbling lurch and knocked against the back of Hermione's legs. With a gasp, she pitched forward, barely saving herself, but the entire container of lacewings disappearing into the potion.

"Damn it!" she hissed, her body throbbing in pain. The potion turned a murky green color that reminded her of old split pea soup.

"Longbottom! Twenty points off Gryffindor and detention tomorrow night!" Snape yelled. He looked quite angry. Neville looked terrified.

"I see your potion has gone astray, Miss Granger," Snape purred, looking delighted. He would, she thought resentfully.

"Yes, sir," she said stiffly.

"For that, you and Mr. Potter will taste it. Tonight. Bottle some up and put it on that shelf over there."

"Why tonight, sir?" Hermione asked as she did what he ordered. The potion was thick, draining into the vial with a reluctant sucking sound. It smelled disgusting.

"Because, Miss Granger, you will be experiencing your worst nightmare as reminder of your failure today, and I imagine that is not something you wish your classmates to see?" He arched an eyebrow. Hermione paled. Her worst nightmare? No, she couldn't...the potion couldn't really do that, could it? Surely Dumbledore would protest.

"Mr. Potter, please arrive here at six-thirty. Miss Granger, at seven-thirty. That is all, class dismissed. Please put a sample of your potion into a vial and put it on the shelf," he told the rest of the class. Hermione packed up her stuff, nearly shaking as she thought of the night to come. Ron shot them both a sympathetic look. He had been working with Dean-their potion was more a vibrant purple than lavender, but at least they didn't have to test their botched potion.

_Damn it, Neville,_ she thought for a moment before deciding that was unfair. Neville couldn't help being clumsy, apparently any more than she could help being smart.

But damn, it was going to be a long day.


	3. Chapter 3: Hermione's Worst Nightmare

A/n: This scene contains fairly graphic scenes of sexual abuse. But it gets better from now on, I promise. Hermione doesn't have to deal with this forever!

**Chapter Three: Hermione's Worst Nightmare**

Hermione's steps dragged the closer she got to the dungeon. She was wearing her heaviest robe, yet couldn't stop shivering. Harry had come out just a few minutes before, looking quite pale and sickly. All he could murmur was something about his mum and dad. Hermione swallowed hard. At least he was done with it now. The Weasley twins had sneaked in quite a hefty case of butterbeer and they were sure to sit him down and ply him with one. He was in good hands.

Too bad Hermione wasn't yet. She knocked on the door to the Potions classroom and heard a brusque "Enter." Pushing it open slowly, she peeped her head round the corner and saw Professor Snape sitting at his desk.

"Well, come in, Miss Granger, don't just stand there and waffle in the doorway," he snapped. She squeaked and hurried in, the door shutting quickly behind her.

"Sit down, Miss Granger," Snape said. She perched on a seat in the front row, her hands folded in her lap to stop their trembling. The vial of useless potion stood on Snape's desk, only half full now. Harry drank that first bit, she thought and fought back another shudder.

"Miss Granger, do you know why I am doing this?" Snape purred as he stood up. His robes flared out to either side like bat wings.

"N-no, sir," she stammered, cursing the momentary weakness in her voice.

"It is because when you make mistakes, those mistakes have consequences. Sure, it's just a classroom potion now. Just vanish the mess and start over again, right? It doesn't work that way in the real world," the Potions professor said coldly, now leaning against his desk. He was mere feet away from Hermione. "Real-world mistakes have real-world consequences. It's time you fifth years learn that you're not invincible."

_I never thought I was!_ Hermione wanted to shout, but knew she couldn't. Still, she bit at her bottom lip. How dare he insinuate that she didn't understand the consequences of mistakes? Of course she did. She'd paid every day of her life for the mistake of being born, hadn't she? Her father didn't start molesting her until she was seven, but he'd done plenty before then. Including slamming her hand palm-down on a hot stove burner because she'd broken a dish. She'd been four and a half. He hadn't done much for a while after that, frightened at the damage he'd inflicted. It had been a little too much, even for him. But it hadn't stopped him for long.

"Well, here you are, Miss Granger," Snape came closer, holding the vial out to her. He loomed over her and she bit back a whimper of fear. Why was she acting like this? Where was that Gryffindor bravery? It all seemed to have deserted her. "Take it, Miss Granger," Snape said, sounding impatient.

"Yes, sir," she whispered. Hermione pulled the stopper out, setting it on the desk in front of her. It smelled vile, making her stomach heave. And she had to _drink_ this?

"In this lifetime, Miss Granger," Snape said. She wanted to call him a snarky git, but refrained, instead holding her breath and gulping down the last swallow of potion.

It tasted disgusting. Like what she imagined raw sewage would taste like. She choked, struggling to keep it down. It slid down her throat, reminding her unpleasantly of what it felt like to have her father...no, she wouldn't think about that now, she decided. Her throat burned and her eyes watered as the potion made its way down.

"How do you feel, Miss Granger?" Snape had resumed his seat. His eyes glittered with an emotion she couldn't define.

"Fine, sir," she started to say, but then the nightmare caught her up.

She was a little girl again. Her robes seemed far too big for her, but she kept them on, drawing meager comfort from their voluminous folds. The dungeon seemed to have shrunk into the dimensions of her closet at home. She crawled into a corner, her knees pressed tightly against her chest. She felt terrified, but she didn't know why.

Then she did. Footsteps echoed from the hallway. Coming closer. To her room. She knew what those footsteps meant. She huddled closer in the corner, praying under her breath that the steps would go past. Tears glistened in Hermione's eyes. No longer was she in the Potions classroom. Snape was nowhere to be found. Indeed, she was finding it hard to remember that she was a fifteen-year-old witch. Instead, she was a child. A young, defenseless child.

"Mione? Where are you, girl?" she heard her father bellow. She cringed, stifling a squeal of terror. Her mother was gone for the day, visiting her sister. She wouldn't be back until tomorrow afternoon. It was just her...and her father.

"Mione, you little bitch, get out here!" her father demanded. She slowly climbed to her feet, her entire body shaking. Now when she looked down, she realized she was wearing a pink dress. Daddy had gotten it for her and told her that she had to wear it, or she would be punished. It was too tight for the little girl, having been made for a child at least two years younger. But she knew Daddy didn't care. That he in fact, liked her in that.

"I'm here, Daddy," she whispered, staring resolutely at the floor as she stepped out of the closet. He grabbed her arm and hurled her onto the bed so hard she bounced. Her head smacked against the wall with a little crack, but she didn't make a sound.

"Has Mione been a good girl today?" he asked, his tone saccharin sweet. "No, she has not," his voice hardened. "Mione was hiding in the closet, wasn't she? Why would you want to hide from your daddy, baby girl? Don't you love me?"

"Of course I love you, Daddy!" Hermione cried out, her eyes rounded in fear and apprehension. "I'm sorry..."

"You should be sorry," her father said. He started unlacing his belt. Terror froze in her stomach. Oh no, not the belt. When he spanked her, he hit her _hard_. With the buckle. He left welts, bruises, and even occasionally made her bleed.

"Get on your tummy, little girl," Daddy told her. "If you do it fast enough, maybe it won't be so bad." She doubted that, but she did as he said, quickly. The back of her dress was flipped up in the next instant and he started pulling down her little girl underwear.

"Good girl," Daddy breathed. She knew his eyes were glued to her body. The thought made her sick. Nausea roiled in her stomach, boiling up her throat until she thought she might throw up. She clamped her lips together and prayed. The nausea subsided, making her weak with relief.

"Count, baby," he told her. "Count each time I spank you and you better count good and loud, or I'm going to spank you even harder. You'll be wishing you were never born, missy."

_I already wish that_, Hermione thought, but knew she could never say. The belt whistled down, smacking across the top of her butt. She quavered out a "One!" feeling the stinging pain sink into her flesh. She hoped he would be satisfied before the pain became too much. He had spanked her as many as thirty times before, until her bottom was sore, bright red, and bruised. She'd been unable to sit down properly for a week.

The spanking continued. Hermione couldn't help but cry, the tears streaming thickly down her face. He started to hit the same places, over and over. She knew the belt would leave bruises. There was no chance it wouldn't.

Finally, he stopped. She lay limp against the bedcovers, the pillow soggy with tears. She knew he wasn't done. Oh, maybe he was done with the spanking, but there was always something new. Something more he could torture her with.

She hated when she was right. He pulled her into a sitting position, manipulating her body like a rag doll. Pain flamed through her nerve endings as he dumped her on her behind, sitting on the edge of the bed. His pants were undone.

"No, no, no, oh, please, Daddy," she babbled before she could stop herself. His eyes hardened and he slapped her across the face, making her ears ring. She bit her cheek and tasted the metallic tang of blood.

"What was that, girl?" he demanded.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she whispered, hanging her head in defeat and submission.

"That's better," he patted her head like she was a puppy in training. Her father pushed his pants down to his ankles, and then his boxers. Stepping out of both of them, his _thing_ was right there in her face. She squeezed her eyes shut. His hand instantly grasped her chin and pulled her face up, squeezing hard.

"Open your eyes," he ordered. She did so reluctantly, a whimper rising from her throat. She couldn't comprehend it. It was just big and red and _there_.

"Put your mouth on it," Daddy told her. She stared at him in utter shock, mouth hanging open. He'd never asked her to do that. She didn't even know it could be done.

While she hesitated, he grabbed the back of her head and pulled her forward. It tasted disgusting. Salty and slimy and musty. Like an over-salted moth ball. She gagged, her eyes squeezing forth a few startled tears.

"That's better," Daddy said, moving back and forth so that it scraped over her teeth. "No teeth, you little bitch," he growled at her. Hermione shivered in fright and tried to put her lips over her teeth so they wouldn't hurt him. Secretly, she wished that not only would her teeth hurt him, they could bite it right _off_.

She didn't dare, of course. He would kill her then. Or worse-maybe he'd let her live.

Thick, viscous fluid suddenly filled her mouth and she choked, coughing and spluttering it out onto her father and herself.

"Swallow," he whispered hoarsely in her ear. "Swallow, little girl, or so help me..." Hermione did as best as she could, but it wasn't much. It coated her chin and neck. It felt like slime, dripping down her body.

He pressed her down against the bed and sat next to her. He was still naked from the waist down, but now that _thing_ was limp and small. She preferred it that way. Maybe it couldn't hurt her anymore.

"Mione," her father said, stroking her hair. She could feel the stuff drying on her face, but didn't dare wipe it off with him in the unpredictable mood he was in. "Mione, you want to be my little girl forever and ever, don't you?"

"Yes, Daddy," she whispered, hating herself for it. She didn't want to be. She wanted to get up and run away from him, far, far away where he couldn't get her. To some magical place.

"Daddy's going to make you a woman, sweetheart," he told her, nudging her to scoot over on the bed so he could stretch out beside her. His eyes burned down into hers. Her stomach flipped anxiously.

"Ok, Daddy," Hermione said. Confusion swarmed in her mind, slowing down her thought processes, her reactions. Make her a woman? She was only a little girl, how could he make her a woman?

"You'll like this," he said enticingly. A grin stretched his features beyond recognition. As he settled on top of her, something prodding between her legs, she felt a scream build in her throat, trapping itself behind her teeth. No, no, he couldn't mean that...not _that_...she was too little, he'd hurt her...

"MISS GRANGER!" a thunderous voice suddenly burst the nightmarish bubble. Hermione blinked. She was in a cold, dark room that smelled like a lot of unpleasant things all mixed together. She was also huddled in a corner, her face stiff with dried tears, and her throat felt utterly raw. Like she'd been screaming.

"Yes, sir?" she croaked, finally realizing that she was in the Potions classroom and Professor Snape was crouched down next to her. Was that...concern in his eyes? she wondered muzzily.

"Mind telling me what that was all about?" he asked and she froze.


	4. Chapter 4: Hermione's Dilemma

**Chapter Four: Hermione's Dilemma**

Hermione stared up at her professor, her breath caught in her lungs. Did he know? Could he see what her worst nightmare was?

"What do you mean, sir?" she managed to rasp out. Yes, she had definitely been screaming, she realized with resignation. She hoped Snape had performed some kind of silencing charm when it started to get really loud, or she would be amazed that half the castle hadn't come thundering down here, thinking Snape was murdering her.

"Your nightmare, Miss Granger," his voice was stiff, but still held that odd note of what might be construed as concern. "You froze in your chair, and then you came over and lay down on the floor. You cried, murmured a lot, and then started screaming. That is...rather unusual. Normally, students who are experiencing this potion do not actually move while in the grips of it. Certainly Mr. Potter did not."

"I-I don't know, sir," she stammered. She prayed to Merlin, Circe, and anyone else who might be listening that he hadn't heard the words she'd been saying. He wouldn't have come over and listened, would he? When he didn't know what else she might do?

"Miss Granger, don't play games," Snape snapped, exasperated. "This potion does not convey amnesia upon the people it affects. You most certainly _do_ know."

"Well, then, I won't tell you!" her voice cracked. She felt exhausted. And like she could cry for ages. She was afraid that she could still feel that noxious fluid glazed upon the lower portion of her face. She almost reached up a hand to feel, but decided that she couldn't. Not in front of Professor Snape.

"If you won't tell me, you leave me no choice," Snape sighed heavily. Before Hermione could ask him what he meant by that, he reached over, grasping her chin with one hand and pointing his wand at her forehead with the other.

"_Legilimens,_" he intoned. She felt him poking and prodding, pushing into her mind. Panic infused her thoughts. No, he couldn't see that. Anything but that! With desperation, she pushed back at him, trying to blank her mind. Or at least fill it with inconsequential pictures and memories. Unfortunately, the closest she could seem to come was the picture of her father pushing her down a small flight of stairs when she was five for waking him up. That had emotionally affected her more than anything else. She'd had scarcely a bruise.

Next, Hermione tried to break eye contact, but now that the spell was initiated, she couldn't seem to manage it. She'd never had any Occlumency training. The only reason she knew what he was doing at all was because she'd read a book last year that mentioned it, and it had intrigued her.

_Does it matter, anyway?_ she wondered in the back of her head. _Daddy said that it was normal. I'm probably just a weird little freak if that's my worst nightmare_. She didn't stop fighting entirely-he'd wonder what she was plotting. She was, after all, "Potter's know-it-all friend." But she reduced the feeble barriers she'd managed to erect and let the first image slip through. A seven-year-old Hermione Granger being tucked into bed by her father when her father's hands started to wander.

It hadn't been scary then. Just a little puzzling. Sometimes, it even felt good. He didn't outright bludgeon her with the knowledge he was molesting her. No, it was all little touches and tickles and "play time." He'd even done some of it almost in front of her mother. It never occurred to Hermione to mention it to her mother. Her mother was starting to become ill already, and she knew that she shouldn't bother the frail woman even at a young age. It wasn't proper. She could handle things on her own.

More memories slipped through her grasp. A three-year-old Mione toddled across the lawn, receiving a firm thwack on her behind for disturbing her father while he talked to the neighbor. Eight years old and forced to undo Daddy's pants.

She managed to keep the memory of the first time he fucked her secret, though. Snape didn't need to see that to understand what she'd gone through.

Could she trust him? Could he help her? Hermione didn't know. His face was locked in a grim mask that could have meant anything. Maybe he meant to start up where her father had left off. Teach her that stupid little girls had to know their place in the world, and that place was on her knees, doing whatever her father and anyone else commanded her to.

Finally, the spell ended. She crumpled against the wall. Her mind felt invaded. She'd been able to feel his time his mind probed hers, each time he accessed a new memory, a new thought, a new image. It made her skin crawl. Her stomach felt like she'd just ingested rat poison.

Snape sagged back, shock and dismay prominent on his features. Oh, no. Hermione cringed back, waiting for the first blow, the first insult to pass his thin lips.

Nothing. After a moment, she carefully peeked up. Why wasn't he saying anything? He still knelt there, staring at her.

"I'm sorry, sir," she finally mumbled. "I know you didn't want to see that."

Now he reacted. Almost as if he'd been electrified, he jerked upright and moved to the front of the classroom. His movements were jerky and stilted.

"Miss Granger, can you please come up here and sit down?" he asked her. He sounded almost...nice. Hermione managed to push herself up, using the wall as a support, and stumbled to a desk in the second row. She didn't dare move any closer. He opened his mouth, as if ready to order her to move up, then shut it again with an audible snap.

"Miss Granger, how long has your father been abusing you?" Snape asked point-blank. Her mouth dropped open in shock. What? Abuse? But-that was what _Harry_ had gone through, not her. Perhaps Snape had gotten her confused with her friend? It was just...discipline. That's what her father said. Discipline and because he loved his little girl. He loved her very much.

_But don't you think that he loves you a little too much? In ways he shouldn't? _ a nagging voice whispered in the back of her mind. She tried to ignore it.

"He doesn't abuse me, sir," she said, proud that her voice only quavered a little. Professor Snape sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Miss Granger. I've just been in your memories. Unless you managed to completely falsify an entire childhood, I am forced to conclude that yes, your father _did_ abuse you in ways I find hard to contemplate." That look of concern was back on his face. Hermione was shocked. She'd expected a lot of reactions ranging from the aforementioned he was going to help her father out to blaming her and telling her it was all her fault. She hadn't imagined he would think it was abuse.

"I deserved it, sir," she managed to say. He stood up in an explosive movement and she flinched automatically, her hand going up to counter an invisible blow.

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger," he apologized. "I wasn't thinking. Of course you'd have traumatized reactions." She sat up firmly, indignant that he would label her startle reaction as "traumatized." Of course she wasn't traumatized. She was _fine_. She'd always be fine. Her friends needed that. She was supposed to be the stable one.

"Miss Granger-Hermione. Please. How long has this been going on?"

He called her "Hermione." She stared dumbstruck at him. It was like her snarky git of a Potions professor had been replaced by someone caring...someone warm and concerned about _her_. She knew he cared for his Slytherins, but she was just the "insufferable know-it-all."

"Ever since I can remember, really," she whispered, staring down at the desk top. "He didn't start the...touching me at night...until I was seven, though. He waited."

"Yes, I'm sure he did," Professor Snape drawled sarcastically. "A whole seven years after your birth. Hermione, did he ever..." She watched her professor fumble for words. "Do more than touch you?"

"You mean have sex with me?" Hermione asked calmly. She was so tired, the fright and anxiety of the past several minutes seemed to have morphed into a death-like calm. She felt very blank inside now. "Yes. Starting when I was eleven. I can't count the number of times by now, so I'm sorry if you wanted a specific number."

"Hermione..." Snape trailed off. He rubbed at his eyes. "I want you to see Madam Pomfrey," he stated. Just the name of the school nurse awoke the throbbing pain between her legs.

"No!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet and barely suppressing the customary wince. "I won't see her. Why do I need to see her, there's nothing _wrong_ with me!"

"Hermione, you're becoming hysterical," he said, walking around the edge of his desk and coming towards her. She backed away, frantic. The calm ripped away by panic. "I want you to see Madam Pomfrey because I believe she can help you."

"No!" Hermione spied the door like it was the Holy Grail and nearly sprinted towards it, her robes flapping around her ankles. She caught Snape by surprise, as the door was unlocked. She fumbled it open and ran out, letting the door slam behind her.


	5. Chapter 5: Hermione's Flight

**Chapter Five: Hermione's Flight**

As Hermione ran, she began to realize how stupid her little stunt had just been. Professor Snape was only trying to help her. Granted, he didn't know how, or he certainly wouldn't have suggested going to Pomfrey. But in his own way, he seemed to care about her. And how did she repay that? By bursting through the dungeon door like a long-distance runner. She didn't even know where she was. She'd avoided the common hallways, but refused to go further into the dungeons. She'd only get lost. She thought she was on the fourth floor now, but didn't know for sure. She did know she'd lost Snape several hallways back. No doubt he could use his magic and find her, but perhaps he wouldn't.

She didn't stop running regardless. It had somehow morphed into quite late-past curfew-and she didn't encounter anyone else. Not even a stray ghost or Peeves the Poltergeist. That was a rare bit of luck. If he saw her, he'd broadcast her location as clear as any megaphone. And then with her luck, Filch would get to her first.

Finally, she stopped running, her sides heaving, and ducked into an empty room. It was a long-abandoned classroom. Each surface was thick with dust, making her sneeze. Hermione looked around, trying to find the best hiding place in the grungy room. She used the hem of her robes to swab randomly at different places, so it didn't look quite so disused. It would be no good finding a hiding place if the footprints in dust led right to her location.

The room had a closet in one corner. More of a large wardrobe, really, but she'd take what she could get. She wedged herself uncomfortably in it. There. It felt almost comforting to be in such a confining space again. She hoped Professor Snape had stopped looking for her, but she didn't dare go back to Gryffindor Tower. When he lost sight of her, that was probably the first place he would look. He might even tell Professor McGonagall about what had happened that night, a thought that caused Hermione no end of embarrassment and shame. Professor McGonagall _couldn't_ find out. She just couldn't. She'd think Hermione was weak. Cowardly. Certainly not meant for Gryffindor. Maybe not even meant for Hogwarts. What if they ended up putting her on the next train home? She began to shake. Then she'd be with her father months sooner than normal.

Damn it, why did Snape have to act so nice? Hermione thought angrily, scrubbing her face with her sleeve as traitorous tears dripped down her cheeks. If he was his normal git of a self, this wouldn't have happened. He wouldn't have tried to find out what happened in her potion-induced nightmare and she could have gone up to bed, taken a bath, and had a good cry. Now look at what had happened. She'd run through the halls so fast, she still had a stitch in her side, and now she had to stay in this wardrobe or cupboard or whatever it was all night. And what was she to do in the morning? She couldn't just not show up. Her professors would be worried. They might even start searching the rooms, and then where would she be? Looking like a right twit. At least she didn't have Potions tomorrow. That was one mercy. Maybe if she just went to classes and had a house elf bring her meals...she cringed at the thought of using a house elf like that, but she'd come to realize that they really did like being enslaved the way they were. The problem was the masters who went overboard with cruelty, and that S.P.E.W. could not fix.

Hermione sighed. She was beginning to cramp. She also was starting to feel slightly ridiculous. How would Snape find her up here, anyway? It felt like she was on the highest floor of Hogwarts, or near to it. It was obviously a long out-of-use corridor. Although at least the hallway wasn't also dusty. Then she might as well have led him right to her with an emblazoned map.

Just as she was about to lever herself out of the wardrobe and go to bed, Potions Professor be damned, the door to the classroom creaked open. She froze, heart pounding in her throat. What if it was Snape? Worse...what if it _wasn't_? She couldn't imagine someone coming up here with good intentions, after all.

Indeed, Hermione was almost relieved when she saw the familiar hook-nosed profile of her professor. It was him, at least. But how had he come up here? How did he know where she was? Or did he? She made sure the door to the wardrobe was open just the tiniest crack. She didn't want him to find her with no warning, after all. How she wished she had Harry's Invisibility Cloak! He'd never find her then.

Professor Snape prowled around the room, his wand tip lit with soft blue light that she recognized came from the _Lumos_ spell. He looked quite angry and she shivered in spite of herself. What would he do to her? Her heart started to thunder in her ears. He could do anything, she realized dimly. Anything at all. Nobody would hear her if she cried for help. Not after curfew, in an unused classroom.

He wouldn't do anything, he's a _professor_, the calm and rational voice in her head told her sternly. He's supposed to _protect_ the students. But the panic began to flare up again and she started to tremble. She hugged herself tightly, trying to calm the shakes.

He got closer to the wardrobe. She held her breath, watching him through the crack in the door, but at a slant, so he wouldn't see the gleam of her eye peeking out.

"I know you're in there, Hermione," came his soft voice, laden with incipient menace. "I would get out here if I were you. I am not in a good mood."

Her anxious mind seized upon the words as being the ghost of her own father's words dragging her out of the closet when he was angry with her. Fear sparked in her head, bright as a brush fire. Dust tickled her nose and she sneezed.

"Aha!" The door sprang open and light invaded her eyes. With a soft, breathless cry, Hermione pitched forward, unconscious.


	6. Chapter 6: Hermione in Stasis

A/N: Wow, thank you for the reviews and all the people who have placed this story on alerts or favorites! xD Thank you. I start school on Monday, so updating might slow down, but I'll try to add as fast as possible. This chapter is from Severus's point of view. ;-)

**Chapter Six: Hermione in Stasis**

[while Hermione is unconscious]

Severus gaped like a landed fish as the slim body of Hermione Granger tumbled out of the dusty wardrobe to land in a heap at his feet. _Well,_ he thought with a certain grim irony. _I certainly wasn't expecting that_.

There had been at least a dozen classrooms before this where he'd pulled the same trick. Demanding that she show herself. Nothing. He'd only truly thought it was _this_ particular room when he heard the muffled noise of her sneeze. Although even then, it could have been Peeves playing a particularly nasty joke on him.

Severus knelt in the dust and gathered up in his arms. She was a light armful for a fifth year, he noted. He was able to rise easily to his feet. Her head lolled and he struggled to support it against his arm. He didn't wish her to acquire a neck injury as well as whatever particular malady had caused her to faint. A pang of guilt struck him as he wondered if it had been he himself. Had he struck a raw nerve? He knew she'd fled in blind panic. Perhaps he had erred in letting his anger show. But he'd hoped it would jar her back to reason, to logic. Not make her pass out at his feet.

He didn't want to go to the Hospital Wing with her. Not yet. He wanted Hermione to walk into the Hospital Wing on her own, after agreeing to submit to Madam Pomfrey's expert care. He himself was no medical genius, yet the number of potions he'd successfully brewed lent a touch of the healing arts to him. He just preferred not to use them.

Her nightmare had shocked him, he was forced to admit as he began the slow, winding journey back to his quarters. Those would do for now, at least until she woke up. He was amazed she was still limp. Had she hit her head? Severus attempted to look, but the masses of bushy hair refused to allow him access. _Ah, well, I'll check later,_ he thought philosophically.

It had shocked him, he realized, because her reactions had been so similar to some of his own as a child. The pleading, the weeping, the huddling into a corner as if hoping to melt into it. Even, at the end, the screaming. He'd slammed up a silencing charm so quickly, he nearly hurt himself. But he didn't want every Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Merlin knew who else bombarding the dungeons in search of the Gryffindor bookworm. Not when she was under his care becaues of a particularly noxious potion he had forced her to consume. With a blush of shame, Severus forced himself to admit, at least in the privacy of his own mind, that he had only forced her to drink the potion because her partner had been Potter. He knew it wasn't the duo's fault their potion had failed. That ineffably clumsy twit of a boy, Neville, had bumped her. He'd actually gasped when he saw Hermione-Miss Granger-tilt over the cauldron, draping her body in a desperate attempt to keep from falling. The real luck was that only the potion had been affected. It hadn't even exploded, as Neville's own were wont to do unless Miss Granger was hissing instructions into his ear.

He hefted Hermione up a little in his arms and let a snort of disgust escape. Neville Longbottom. The boy plagued him. How many cauldrons had he melted this semester alone? _Three_? How he had even managed to get into Hogwarts sometimes was a mystery. In private, Severus could admit he felt for the boy, knowing what his parents had gone through and what he went through, seeing only blank faces where loving expressions should be. His parents saw him, but they didn't _know_ him. That had to be a kind of living hell, and Severus was quite prepared to admit, if only to himself, that sometimes he almost pitied Longbottom.

Be that as it may, the child was dreadful at Potions. It wasn't entirely due to Severus's presence, either; on numerous occasions, they'd had a substitute professor and on each occasion, Neville still managed to bollocks his potion. It was a wonder he wasn't dead yet.

But Hermione...Severus quickened his stride, anxious to get to the dungeons. She was brilliant. Even he had to acknowledge that. Oh, she tended to rely over much on textbooks, parroting their knowledge instead of letting her own intelligence shine through, but he could see that peek forth in her essays. He derided her as a know-it-all, but he could remember himself as a boy, desperately losing himself in books and learning. Books couldn't hurt you.

A low groan came from the girl in his arms. Hermione was starting to wake up. _Good_, Severus thought as he cast a wandless spell to open the door to his private chambers. They seemed more appropriate than the drafty classroom, although he took especial care to place her on the sofa and close the bedroom door with another wandless spell. She didn't need to see that right now.

Severus took a seat beside the sofa, held Hermione's hand in his own, and waited.


	7. Chapter 7: Hermione Tells AllSort Of

**Chapter Seven: Hermione Tells All...Sort Of**

Hermione's eyelids fluttered. For a hazy moment, she thought that she was in bed in Gryffindor Tower, snugged up safely in her own four-poster. Then the room became clearer, and she realized that wherever she was, it was most definitely _not_ her dormitory.

"I'm glad you're awake," came a soft voice. She jumped, wincing as she bumped her head on something lumpy. Glancing around wildly, propping her body on her elbows, she realized that Professor Snape sat next to her. He must have put her on a sofa, she realized. Her cheeks reddened as she slowly subsided into a lying position. She felt stiff and rigid, like she'd been Petrified.

"Sir," she acknowledged curtly. She didn't want to be here. Why hadn't he brought her to Madam Pomfrey like he'd threatened? It's not like she could have stopped him. She had been unconscious.

Hermione didn't want to think of herself fainting, literally at her professor's feet. How cliche was that? He must have thought her a fool. Running away like that, like a frightened child, instead of talking to him like a well-thought, rational adult. If she'd had a chance of convincing him not to betray her to the nurse, that chance must be gone now. Now that she'd proven herself a little girl.

"Do you know why you fainted, Miss Granger?" Snape questioned, seemingly unaware of his student's inner turmoil. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and shook her head. She honestly didn't. Unless it was just from emotional upset. She'd certainly had plenty of _that_ in the past several hours.

"I believe you have endured too much emotional trauma tonight, Miss Granger," he said, confirming her guess. She picked at a stray thread on her robes, pointedly not looking at him. Would he let her leave _now_? Surely he could not mean to keep her here all night? Unless...her mouth dried and she paled. She could not help the glance around, frantically searching for any hint of his bedroom. Surely he could not do that. Anything but that.

There was no sign. All the doors were firmly shut, and she calmed, a breath of relief slipping past her lips.

"Miss Granger, Hermione," Snape scooted his chair closer and she pressed back against the sofa. She didn't want to be lying down. She felt helpless. Vulnerable. But she was also fairly certain she could not manage to sit yet, and she would not faint again in front of him if she could help it. "I want to help you, Hermione. I know what it feels like, to be...to be hurt in some of the ways you have," he fumbled out. He looked distinctly uncomfortable. His lips were pressed in a tight line, and there was sweat gleaming on his forehead. Hermione stared at him in surprise. He knew what it felt like? But that meant...Snape nodded. Yes. It did mean what she suspected.

"Please tell me what he's done to you," Snape encouraged. Her sallow-faced, greasy-haired snarky git of a professor actually looked concerned for her well-being, Hermione realized in amazement. He wanted to know what her father had done. He must want to help her. But could she trust him?

"Can I trust you?" she blurted out, not realizing that she was going to ask until the question was already out of her mouth.

"Yes, Hermione," Professor Snape nodded. "You can trust me with whatever you say to me. It will be held in strictest confidence." Hermione doubted that were true. Didn't ongoing abuse have to be reported to the authorities? Or was that just in the Muggle world? She realized that she had very little idea of what went on in the wizarding realm in regards to laws.

"All right," she said. "Um...I think I need to sit up for this." The professor stood up and moved closer, helping her to sit. She swung her legs down onto the floor, holding herself stiffly upright. Her head swam for a moment and she blinked hard.

"All right, Hermione?" Snape asked, raising one eyebrow. She found herself nodding.

"Yes," she whispered. Hermione pressed her hands tightly together in her lap. She knew that once she started, she probably wouldn't be able to stop. She certainly wouldn't have chosen Professor Snape as a confidant, but well, he was here, he didn't look like he was about to drag her into the bedroom and torture her, and she needed to tell _someone_.

"It started when I was very young," she began, hooking her feet under the sofa like a much younger child. Even her voice sounded younger. More timid and unsure. "I don't remember how it began. I don't even know if this was the first time he did something. But I know it hurt." She described the incident where he'd put her hand on a stove burner for breaking a dish. Snape's eyes widened at this bit of news, but he didn't say anything, merely kept an encouraging expression on his face.

"I think he was scared after that, to be honest," she admitted. "I don't think he meant to do that. Or didn't realize how badly it would hurt me. He told my mother that I had touched the stove myself. He said he'd tried to grab me before it happened, but was unsuccessful. I tried to tell her what happened, but she didn't believe me. She thought I was only saying that because I was so little and frightened and in pain...because my daddy didn't save me, basically." Her lips twisted in a bitter movement. "I think she was starting to get sick even then. Certainly she was sick when he pushed me down the stairs for waking him up. That didn't hurt much. Just frightened me. Then I knew my father could do anything.

"May I have a blanket, please?" she requested. The room was almost stifling hot, but Snape retrieved what she'd requested. It was plush to the touch, and a dark forest green. She tucked it around her legs and continued, her hands twisting in the soft fabric.

"I was seven when he started touching me," Hermione stated. "I didn't know what he was doing at first. It seemed like...a game, really. Like Peek-a-boo or something." She shot an uncertain glance toward her Potions professor, not knowing if he would know what Peek-a-boo was. He motioned for her to continue. "I didn't really understand that it was-wrong-until he started making me touch him, too."

Hermione stared blankly into space for a moment, gathering her strength. She didn't want to talk about this. But she knew she should. Maybe even had to. It was bursting inside her, begging for someone to hear. And to understand.

"It was disgusting," she forced herself to continue. "I'm...I don't know if you can imagine, but...it was utterly horrible. I had no idea what it was, and he wouldn't tell me beyond saying that it was his 'special place.'" She grimaced in disgust. "M-my worst nightmare actually caught the time when he decided that I needed to do more than touch it. I needed to put my mouth on it, as well. He nearly choked me to death.

"He didn't actually have sex with me until I was eleven," she said all in a rush. Her fingers clenched in the blanket so tightly, her knuckles went white. "He told me it was my duty, and it was time to make me a woman. I didn't know what he meant. I...I thought..." Her face started to crumple. Her mouth worked soundlessly before she dropped her head, pulling the blanket up to her chest. A solitary tear escaped, sliding its way down her cheek.

"What did you think, Hermione?" Snape asked gently. He placed a comforting hand on her knee for one moment, then withdrew it.

"I thought that it meant I was special," she admitted in a shamefaced way. "He said that I was special, if I would just let him do this and make him a woman, it would mean so much to him..."

"I bet it did," Snape muttered darkly. Anger crossed his face, although Hermione knew it was not directed at her. "What happened then, Hermione?"

She shrugged, staring down at her blanket-covered lap.

"I don't know. It happened. It hurt. I hated it. He kept doing that. Every break. I lived for the times I could come back to Hogwarts and pretend it wasn't happening. He told me it was normal, but..." she sighed and bit her lip. "That's not true, is it?"

"Not in the slightest," Snape confirmed in a quiet voice.

"Well...that's it, really," she said, feeling a bit helpless now that she'd spilled it all in a more concrete form. "He never stopped hitting me, although he was careful not to leave marks where Mum could see them. She's so ill now, you see. No one knows what's wrong. It could be anything. I've tried to look, but...so far, I've found nothing." Her eyes watered again and she blinked the tears back furiously. She refused to cry again. Her eyes still felt swollen and raw from the last time.

"That's my story," she said again and bowed her head, waiting for her professor's response. It wasn't long in coming.


	8. Chapter 8: Hermione's Validation

A/N: Sorry this took so long to update. I just started school and to top that all off, my laptop got a computer virus. =( It's still not fixed, so I can only be on the school computers. Major suckage. So, without further adieu, the next chapter! xD

**Chapter Eight: Hermione's Validation**

"Hermione, could you tell Headmaster Dumbledore this?" Professor Snape asked. Hermione's eyes widened and she shook her head.

"Sir, please," she said. "I don't want to tell anyone else. I didn't even really want to tell _you_, to be honest." She bit her lip and looked up at him. He didn't look angry, but she couldn't really tell. He was a master at schooling his expressions.

"Why do you wish to keep this a secret, Hermione?" the Potions Master asked. "Dumbledore or I can help you. We can remove you from your father. And keep you with your mother while she lies ill. Perhaps she could even be sent to St. Mungo's. She's a Muggle, but she has a witch for a daughter, which would qualify her."

At that, Hermione looked up, a spark of hope nesting in her heart. Could her mother be cured? She'd been sick for so long, it was almost difficult to imagine. But...she'd have to tell the Headmaster. She slumped back against the couch.

"I just can't tell," she mumbled to her clenched hands. "My mother-it would kill my mother to know. How I must have led my father on. She would be...she would be so disappointed in me." She sniffed hard, trying to control her runaway emotions.

"Hermione Jean Granger, this is not your fault," Severus Snape stated in so firm a voice it made Hermione jump. She blinked at him in shock.

"Hermione," he continued in a softer tone. "You were a child. You did not lead your father on. Even if you had leapt into his lap nude, he would have the obligation to protect you, not touch you in inappropriate ways. You were a little girl. You didn't deserve _any_ of the things he did."

"But," she weakly objected. Her eyes grew shiny with tears. "How could I not deserve it? I didn't even fight back. Obviously, I must have wanted it. He knew that..."

Snape plucked her hand from her lap and gently rubbed it. His eyes burned like coals, but strangely, the effect didn't frighten her. It actually kind of soothed her.

"You were a child," he stated. "A young, frightened child who didn't know what to do. How could you fight your own father, Hermione? You were seven years old when it first happened. A seven-year-old does not have the resources to fight back. No matter how clever you were, no matter how many books you'd read, you were a child. And even if it felt good or it was like a game...you did not want it because you were a _child_ and didn't even know what sex was. Am I wrong?"

Hermione shook her head dumbly. No, he wasn't wrong. She hadn't learned about sex until she was eleven. Thankfully, from a book on sexual health at the library instead of her father's assault. It had been a little confusing trying to learn the proper terms, but she'd managed. Her father had called everything by its euphemisms-presumably so if she told someone, they wouldn't understand the severity.

"As for your mother-it might hurt her to know, yes," Snape admitted. "But not because of your actions, Hermione. Because of your father's actions. It's always difficult to realize the person you married is not who you thought they were."

Hermione looked up with surprise in her expression. He sounded like he was speaking from personal experience. But Professor Snape had never been married...had he? She didn't know much about her Potions professor, other than that he'd been a spy for Voldemort during the war and he'd nearly died in the Shrieking Shack. Oh, and that he was a right snarky git to the Golden Trio most of the time. He wasn't being a snarky git now, though...

"I don't know," she bit her lip in concentration. "Maybe we should just leave it. I mean, my mother might die at any time. Wouldn't it be better if she didn't know what kind of man her husband could be?" She didn't realize her tone was naked pleading until Snape squeezed her hand again.

"Hermione," he said quietly. "No. She needs to know. Perhaps we can leave the Headmaster out of it, if you truly do not wish to tell him." Hermione shook her head vigorously. Bushy hair bounced on her shoulders. No. She decidedly did not want to tell the Headmaster anything.

"Then your mother," Snape decided. "As soon as can be arranged. And Hermione?"

"Yes?" she asked, caught a little off-guard.

"I believe you, it was horrible, and it was not your fault," Snape said, an emphatic look crossing his face. He then stood up and strode over to the fireplace. "Now, it's late and I believe you would like to return to your dormitory. Is that correct?"

Hermione nodded, a little dazed. A flash of green powder and a mumbled word, and she was stumbling into the Gryffindor common room, her legs stiff and her mind awhirl with questions.


	9. Chapter 9: Hermione Makes a Choice

A/N: I'm sorry this one took so long! School takes up a LOT of my time. And I'm still having some problems with my computer. *weeps softly* xP But here's the next chapter. Chapter ten will involve a trip to the hospital wing, which should prove interesting...

Oh, and pleeeeeeeease review, pretty please? A fluffy kitten is born every time you review. Honest. I swear. LOL

**Chapter Nine: Hermione Makes a Choice**

Hermione crept into her bed. Her eyes felt gritty and sore from both the crying and the exhaustion falling over her. At least none of the other girls had woken up. It would have been awkward and potentially humiliating to explain that yes, she had been with Professor Snape all this time. She knew at least some of the other girls (Lavender in particular crept to mind) would like nothing better than to tease her about a "relationship" with Professor Snape. She might be a bit naive, even after all this time, but she knew what they meant. They would want to believe she was having a sexual relationship with a teacher, no matter how much other evidence would say otherwise.

Hermione couldn't deny that in a better time and place, she would probably have a huge crush on the sinister-looking Potions professor. She'd always pushed those feelings aside, sublimating them in her work. A compliment from him made her whole day; she knew how rare they were.

But now she didn't know what to think. He'd turned from this aloof, slightly cold professor who had a marked dislike of her and her fellow Gryffindors (although he was scrupulously fair with grading-no matter how Harry and Ron bitched and complained, she knew it to be true) into a caring man who'd experienced some of the same awful things she had. He'd almost become, say, a comrade.

Oh, he'd been that in the war, of course, serving as a double agent for Dumbledore. She recalled many an evening in Grimmauld Place when she would sit up with the "grown-ups" and talk about academic pursuits. He had a brilliant mind and she loved picking every scrap of knowledge she could out of his brain. But he was still aloof. Still an adult, her professor. She was only a child, no matter how smart she professed to be (and no matter how small and insignificant she felt inside).

Now, though. She pulled the covers up to her neck and lay still for a moment, frowning. Now she didn't know what to believe. He'd told her that she should go to the headmaster and she wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that everything would be all right. She desperately craved the belief that her mother could get better in St. Mungo's. It was a slim chance but surely better than nothing, wasn't it? Hermione wanted to kick herself for not thinking of it before. Then again, witch daughter or not, her mother was still a Muggle and the chances of her getting into St. Mungo's without a wizard sponsor were quite slim. Nonexistent, in fact. And a witch still in school was not likely to get the hospital administration to change their minds and admit a Muggle woman, no matter how sick she might be.

No, she shouldn't be mad at herself for not realizing the possibilities the wizarding world could offer in the medical field. But could Dumbledore really help her with her father? Hermione hunched her shoulders in, wishing she could bury her head under the blankets and curl into her customary ball. The other girls thought it was strange she did that, though, and tormented her until she woke up. She desperately wished she could move into her own private room, but that wouldn't even become a possibility until seventh year. And then _only_ if she became Head Girl.

_Time to sleep_, Hermione thought, exhaustion fogging her thoughts. There would be enough time for such introspection tomorrow.

Hermione thought it very unfair the next morning, after a restless and uneasy few hours of sleep, that she had Potions yet again. She'd forgotten last night in her frenzy to escape her professor. Damn it. Normally she wouldn't, but she'd decided to join a special Potions study group for advanced students who intended to study it beyond graduation. Harry and Ron thought her mental, of course, but Hermione had discovered a real flair for Potions beneath her know-it-all exterior. She loved brewing particularly complex potions, knowing what uses they could be put to. In this study group, the Potions they brewed went to the Hospital Wing, St. Mungo's, and other institutions that required them, depending on the type of potion and complexity. The knowledge that her hard work was going towards actually helping other people improved her skill, she thought.

Harry and Ron were waiting for her in the common room as she stumbled down the stairs, groggy and yawning. Harry had a pale, drawn look about him and Hermione remembered with a pang that he'd gone through his own worst nightmare last night.

"Are you all right, Harry?" she asked anxiously, tucking strands of bushy hair behind her ears and tugging her jumper down.

"I'm fine, Mione," Harry reassured her.

"He had nightmares," Ron butted in. They both shot irritable looks at the redheaded boy. _Honestly, Ron_, Hermione thought, shifting her bookbag higher on her shoulder and leading the way toward the Great Hall. _Don't you have _any_ tact?_

The Hall was crowded. She'd woken fairly late for breakfast. Hermione refused to look at the Head Table, afraid that a certain dark-haired professor would be staring at her. She knew he would want to talk to her later. Find out what she meant to do. She didn't know. She cringed at the thought of telling the Headmaster. He could help Harry, yes, of course, he had, but Hermione? The little bushy-haired Muggleborn know-it-all? She doubted it.

Breakfast was a rushed affair. Hermione nibbled at a piece of toast until it was time to go. Harry gave her a concerned look, but she shook her head at him. Ron, as usual, was oblivious, cramming his mouth full of food. Hermione really did like him, he was a great friend, but it was a good thing she'd never relied on him for emotional support, she thought wryly. She'd die of old age before she got a truly empathic conversation with Ronald Weasley.

As the Hall started to empty out, Hermione reluctantly got to her feet, wiping her mouth clean with the back of her hand. Advanced Potions was the first class of the day.

As Hermione walked briskly down the stairs to the dungeon her class was taught in, she could feel eyes on the back of her head. She whirled, her wand in a defensive postion. It was automatic; after the war she'd been in, there was no way she could control her defensive reflexes and honestly, she didn't want to. They'd proved useful more than once.

Professor Snape stood behind her, one eyebrow raised in slightly amused query. Hermione flushed and lowered her wand, wishing that she could vanish into the floor.

"Miss Granger," he said in his soft, silky voice. "Please report to my office after class."

"Yes, sir," she mumbled, bowing her head and staring intently at the ground, like the dark stain on the stone floor could reveal the precise thing she could say to keep everything normal. Her body throbbed abruptly, in painful memory, and she bit her lip hard. Professor Snape swept by her, the wind generated by his robes billowing chilling her face. She straightened and hurried after him, slipping into the classroom only instants after her professor.

Thankfully, this was more of a study group than an actual class. Which meant he usually posted a potion or two on the chalkboard or assigned one from the text, and then left them alone, either grading papers in his office, assisting Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing, or making himself available for private tutoring in the back of the room. Hermione made sure her seat was as far away from him as she could get.

Her partner ended up being Blaise Zabini. For a Slytherin, he wasn't half bad. He didn't have an ounce of prejudice against Muggleborns, something Hermione could appreciate.

The potion of the day was a moderately difficult flu reliever. Hermione went to work with a minimum of talk and effort, her mind awhirl with thoughts of the meeting later. What she would say to Professor Snape. What her decision would be. Would she agree to talk to the Headmaster, or would it be a matter of Snape dragging her down to the gargoyle-guarded office, stuffing a vial of Veritaserum down her throat, and telling her to spill it all? Would it matter?

By the time class ended, Hermione still had no idea what she would say or how she could turn the meeting to her advantage. She was not very good at manipulation. Oh, in a slight, small way, she could-at least when it involved getting someone to turn away, ignore her, minimize the pain. But like this? When her Potions professor _knew_? Oh, no, definitely not.

"Miss Granger," Snape called over the muted din of the class packing up and leaving. "A word with you, please." Blaise gave her a quick, wordless glance of sympathy, and she nodded at him, grateful for it. She stuffed her bag full of her Potions notes and walked slowly towards Professor Snape, standing next to his office.

"In here, please," Snape guided her into his office and shut the door. She noted with a bit of surprise that he warded it with a strong silencing charm and eavesdropping spell. What on earth did he have to say that was so important?

"Hermione," he said warmly. "Please take a seat." She gingerly perched on the edge of a chair, watching him through suspicious eyes. She clutched her bookbag to her chest in a defensive posture she knew would garner his swift attention.

"Hermione, we talked about this last night, and we need to talk of it again," he said, sitting on the edge of his desk. "Now that you've had the night to think about it, please, would you tell the Headmaster of this?"

"No," she said quietly. "I'm sorry, sir, but I really can't see how telling Headmaster Dumbledore would be appropriate."

"Is there anyone else?" Snape asked, surprising her. She looked up and blinked. "Any other professor or staff member at this school who you would like to tell?"

"Madam Pomfrey," the words flew out of her mouth. She was surprised that she had said them, but not too badly shaken. The nurse was a good choice. She would be discreet, confidential. She would have ties to the Healers at St. Mungo's, to help treat her mother.

"That's your decision?" Snape verified, arching one eyebrow. Hermione nodded. "Ah. I presume you know then, that this entails a visit to the Hospital Wing and a complete diagnostic scan." Hermione winced, but nodded again.

"I'm excusing you from your next class," Professor Snape told her. "We're going to the Hospital Wing now. I don't trust you not to run off or change your mind again." Hermione flushed a painful red, but she could not deny his reasoning. She knew how foolish she'd been last night; he didn't need to rub it in further.

"Shall we go then?" he asked, a tiny smile quirking the corners of his mouth. "Through the Floo, I think."

"Yes, sir," Hermione said softly, standing and walking toward the fireplace. "I'm ready."


	10. Chapter 10:Hermione in the Hospital Wing

Thank you for the reviews! xD Here are some kittens: http: /3. .com/_FGhipZH7DII/SurFEAG2IJI/AAAAAAAAC7Y/ppghST5Uj2c/s320/bournemouth-echo. jpg [just take the spaces out and put in an extra / before the /3]

Burnedx2: I like writing a softer side of Snape...I think he would be in this case. I mean, he can't really be his usual snarky self! ;-)

eternal vampire: See above 3 Thank you. *blushes* I haven't written a lot, but I've read a ton and I think kind of figured out what to do/what not to do. I thought of her asking for Prof. McGonagall, but then I couldn't see her actually talking to her. Plus, Madam Pomfrey can fix her up AND help her mom, so kind of a win-win.

So here's the next chapter!

**Chapter Ten: Hermione in the Hospital Wing**

Hermione tumbled through the Floo connection, coughing on a bit of soot that had stuck itself in her lungs. Snape unfolded himself smoothly after her, not a hair or thread out of place. She gave him a small, resentful look as Madam Pomfrey bustled out of her office.

"Severus? Miss Granger? What are you doing here?" she asked in surprise, smoothing her apron. Hermione looked helplessly at her Potions professor. Now that they were here, she couldn't actually speak up.

"Miss Granger needs a full medical check-up, Poppy," Professor Snape told the plump Mediwitch.

"Well, all right, if you're sure, Severus," Poppy cast an uncertain look at the trembling fifth-year. "Come with me, Hermione," she added kindly. "Here behind this curtain. And change into this."

Hermione obediently changed into the hospital gown, still shaking. Her mind had gone curiously blank. She couldn't believe she was doing this. Why was she doing this? Oh, right, because if she didn't, her only other choice seemed to be Dumbledore. Given the choice between the kindly-faced Mediwitch and the impossibly old, oddly-twinkling Headmaster, she'd pick Madam Pomfrey every time. Maybe Harry felt himself able to confide in Albus, but she couldn't even picture it. It was beyond comprehension. It had been bad enough telling the Potions Master. She was still amazed at that, to be honest.

Soon enough, Hermione came out and lay stiffly down on the bed, her arms by her sides. It reminded her of the time she'd been Petrified in second year. That had felt odd. She honestly hadn't felt any time pass between the time the basilisk Petrified her and the time the Restoring Draught woke her up. She'd almost been ready to rush off and tell Harry that there was a basilisk loose in the pipes until Madam Pomfrey told her and the others what had happened.

"Full check-up, Severus?" Madam Pomfrey asked. "History and everything?"

"Yes," Snape nodded, looking a little bored. Hermione hoped that was a mask to prevent Madam Pomfrey from worrying. She'd be worrying all too soon, Hermione thought bitterly, striving to keep herself from digging her nails into her palms.

The wand flashed above her. Blue, white, and yellow lights danced around the tip. Madam Pomfrey frowned to herself then gasped, her mouth dropping open in shock.

"You poor child," she murmured. Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. Please, spare the dramatics, she thought in irritation.

Madam Pomfrey tapped the wall twice with her wand and several lines of writing scrolled onto the wall.

"There," she said. "Hermione's full medical history. I presume that the last few paragraphs is what you really wanted to discern, wasn't it?"

"Of course," Professor Snape admitted, moving closer so he could read it. Interested, Hermione sat up on her elbows, straining to look at the wall.

Areas of Concern:

_Past History:_

Age 4: sustained third-degree burn on left hand

Age 7: first sustained mild bruising and tearing of vaginal area

Age 9: first sustained mouth bruising and tearing; throat swelling

Age 11: traumatic injury to vaginal area; sustained bleeding

Hermione couldn't read anymore. She looked away, blinking rapidly. Her throat felt tight, like she couldn't swallow. How could a few bloody waves of a stick of wood dredge up all her secrets? She was glad that it focused solely on physical injury, though. She couldn't imagine how it would look if it took into account her mental state.

"Hermione?" Madam Pomfrey's soft voice dragged her out of her reverie. "Are you in pain now, honey?" Hermione shrugged, a listless movement of her shoulders. To be honest, the moment she had fully sat up, a throbbing pain had begun between her legs. But she didn't care right now. In fact, she almost welcomed it.

"Here," a vial full of light blue fluid was handed to her. She drank it without protest, although the slimy taste made her stomach cramp. After a few moments, the pain lessened appreciably and she took a deep breath.

"Hermione, could you tell me why you've had so many injuries to your private areas?" the Mediwitch asked quietly. "Professor Snape doesn't have to be here if you don't..."

"No, he's fine," Hermione interrupted, speaking a little too fast in panic. She wouldn't be able to talk if Snape left. She knew that much.

"My father abused me," she said baldly, staring straight ahead at a clear patch of wall. She heard Madam Pomfrey gasp from a long way away. "He still does, to be perfectly truthful. And my mother's sick. No one in the Muggle world can cure her. Can you help her get to St. Mungo's?" Hermione turned then and fixed the Mediwitch with a pleading stare.

"Of course, Hermione," the nurse reassured her, patting her hand. Hermione flinched away. "I'm sorry," Poppy apologized. "I should know better, I'm just...surprised, I guess would be the word! Does the Headmaster know?"

"_No!_" Hermione nearly yelled, sitting bolt upright, her muscles knotted in tension. "And he's not _going_ to know, either, please, Madam Pomfrey, don't tell him. Professor Snape promised he wouldn't tell if I went to you and I did, so please...the Headmaster doesn't need to know."

Madam Pomfrey looked doubtfully at Professor Snape, who nodded slowly.

"Miss Granger is quite correct," he said in his silky, drawling voice. "I did indeed inform her that I would not tell the Headmaster, if she promised she would tell someone else, and she has. I would not go back on my word." His cold stare suggested that Poppy agree with him.

"Well, Hermione, you need to stay in the Hospital Wing for a bit," Madam Pomfrey assured her, every bit the professional nurse. "There's some tearing I don't like the looks of, and some general malaise you could use a rest to cope with. Professor Snape, would you like to come back in, say, three hours?"

"If Miss Granger agrees," he said. Hermione shrugged then nodded miserably. She blinked, her eyes swimming. No, she refused to cry in front of the Mediwitch.

"Then it's settled," Madam Pomfrey drew another curtain around Hermione's bed. "I'll just give you another pain reliever, dear, and then a sleepy potion."

Hermione looked up desperately, wildly, just in time to lock eyes with her Potions professor before the curtain drew completely shut.

She was alone.


	11. Chapter 11: Hermione Sleeps

A/N: Sorry it's been so long between updates. I've been quite busy with paper writing and stuff for school. Plus now I'm sick. =( Not fun! THANK YOU for all the reviews! xD A few personal notes:

purefaith91: Hehe, not only has he realized it, he gets a little bit of a talking-to in this chapter. He really needs to face up to how he shouldn't take out his frustration/dislike on people xP

angelous369: I haven't decided yet if Severus will hurt Hermione's father. He WANTS to quite badly, but he also doesn't want to alienate Hermione and she still loves her dad, even though he's awful to her...if he does end up hurting Hermione's father, I'm sure it will be in his own delightfully evil way. ^_^

Aaaaaaaaaand here's the story.

**Chapter Eleven: Hermione Sleeps...**

[another chapter primarily from Severus's point of view! xD]

Severus frowned at the look of wide-eyed panic on Hermione's face as the bed curtains closed around her. Why hadn't Poppy given her a Calming Draught as well? he thought irritably. Ah, well, too late now, the sleeping potion would be coursing through her system soon and the combination of both could be potentially hazardous. In fact, just last week, a sixth-year Hufflepuff had tried to commit suicide by downing two beakers of Calming Draught and then another three of Sleeping Potions. It was sheer luck that Professor Flitwick had walked in on the girl. She was in St. Mungo's now, in their psychiatric ward. Poor child, Severus thought. He would never admit it out loud, but he felt sorry for the Hufflepuff girl. She'd been bullied at home and at school-by Slytherins, he thought with a twinge of shame. He'd had a serious conversation with all of his Slytherins after Miss Bellwick had been transferred to the hospital. While he believed that his Slytherins needed a one-up in the world, he did not approve of bullying. The memory of his own bullying was enough to give him a sick taste in his mouth and an uneasy stomach. Nott had been the instigator and had received two months' worth of detention and a very firm talking-to from both his Head of House and the Headmaster. He was lucky he hadn't been expelled.

All this had nothing to do with Hermione Granger, of course, and Severus realized he was stalling as he turned to face the school nurse's accusing stare.

"Severus, how on earth did Miss Granger come to confide in you?" the Mediwitch asked. She looked honestly baffled. Severus sat down at Hermione's bedside and put up a silencing spell, motioning for Madam Pomfrey to sit down as well.

"Potter and Granger were partners in Potions yesterday," he started off. "They were to make a greatest dreams potion."

"But Severus, surely that's too complex for their grade level?" Poppy interrupted, objecting. Severus smirked.

"We are talking about Miss Granger here, Poppy, I do not believe anything is too complex for that girl. As I was saying...an 'accident' occurred, I believe involving Longbottom..." he arched one eyebrow and Poppy rolled her eyes. Neville was always ending up in the Hospital Wing for one injury or another. It was ridiculous how clumsy the boy was. "They added too many lacewings, so I decided that both Potter and Granger would come to my office later that night and drink some of the botched potion."

Severus shifted uncomfortably in his chair as Poppy glared at him. He'd expected that reaction, really. It was hard not to rush into justifications, but he knew there wasn't any. He didn't like the Potter boy. On his own merit now, at least, instead of blind hatred of him as James Potter's son. But the child was still arrogant and seemed to believe he was above rule breaking. Now Severus knew that some of Potter's rule-breaking was justified. In particular, he could recall the events of second year. Be that as it may, the boy needed to learn that adults were not there for decoration and over-zealous point-taking; they were there for guidance and help. He failed to avail himself of either function almost constantly, and it deeply irked the Potions professor.

"Severus, how could you force either of those children to face their worst nightmare?" Poppy demanded in a furious hiss. "Particularly Potter, you _know_ he's faced You-Know-Who God knows how many times. That monster might be dead now, but the memories still live on in Harry's head."

_Interesting she makes no mention of Hermione,_ Severus noted. What, just because she wasn't the Chosen One, she couldn't have horrific memories of You-Know-Who herself? She hadn't fought the Dark Lord, but Severus knew that as a member of the Golden Trio, she had definitely seen and faced terrible, terrible things.

"At the time, I wanted them to understand that mistakes they make have consequences, something they're fairly protected from in the school environment," he explained. He still thought he was right in the theoretical sense, but definitely had to admit that he'd failed them both deeply in the practical sense. It was sheer luck that Potter wasn't also in a hospital bed, thrashing around with constant nightmares. Damn. He'd meant to check on the boy today and discover if last night was still haunting him. He was even going to offer a Dreamless Sleep potion. Well, he still could later, he decided. After this mess was taken care of.

"Miss Granger grew quite distraught," he continued when Poppy made no response, merely continued to glare at him. "She started moving about the classroom, ending up huddled in a corner. And then she started screaming." His eyes grew distant as he reflected on the panic he'd felt when the girl first started her haunting shrieks. "I put up silencing charms, of course, no one needed to walk in on her like that. But I also knew that wasn't an appropriate response to the potion. Certainly, _Potter_ didn't react like that." Potter had sat perfectly still and rigid in his seat, tears coursing down his cheeks in a steady stream that had made Severus feel quite uncomfortable and rather like a bully, actually.

"Then what, Severus?" Poppy demanded when he didn't continue speaking. He let a little bit of a sneer cross his mouth. Honestly, the woman should know better than to prod him for information like a gossip-starved slag.

"Then I removed her from the nightmare with a spell and we...talked about it," he demurred. Although the woman was a nurse and he had no doubt she would keep things entirely confidential, he had no wish to tell her about Hermione-Miss Granger's breakdown. The Mediwitch did not need to know of Miss Granger's panicked flight through the castle or the way she had fallen unconscious at his feet. And _definitely_ did not need to know that he had carried her back to the dungeons in his arms.

Poppy regarded him with a skeptical look, as if she knew that there was more to the story, but didn't press him on it, much to Severus's relief.

"Well, I want that child removed from her home," she said bluntly. "I don't know if it can be made possible, and I know that Hermione certainly doesn't seem to want it, but Merlin above, what she has been through is horrifying. When I saw what the printout was telling me, I cast a few other diagnostic spells. I haven't used it in years, but there's a spell to tell how many times someone has had sex. It was over fifty times, Severus! That _monster_ has abused her that many times. And that could only count vaginal sex, I'm not sure I want to know what else he's done to her." A distressed look came over her features and Severus was reminded of how very unworldly the nurse could be sometimes. She'd seen it all, of course; after all, a Mediwitch was not very sheltered from harsh physical realities. But in terms of what someone could do to another human being? In terms of the mental and emotional cruelty that could be inflicted on someone? She had no _idea_.

Severus did. He saw it all the time in his Slytherins' lives. Many of them came from broken or abusive homes. Only a few days earlier, he'd had a long, heartfelt chat with one of his first years, a very shy girl named Emmaliese Thompson. Her father had given her a rather nasty black eye only minutes before she was to board the train for Hogwarts. Why? He didn't like how excited she was for school to start. Ministry proceedings were already underway as luckily for Miss Thompson, her father was a wizard. It would be much more difficult in Hermione's case if she decided she wanted to press charges. She'd more than likely have to use Muggle means and Severus knew personally how unreliable those were.

"Miss Granger's mother is very ill," he reminded Madam Pomfrey. She blinked and returned to the professional woman she was. "She wants Mrs. Granger to go to St. Mungo's for treatment. Is there any way you can facilitate that or should I try? As blind as the woman seems to have been about her husband's mistreatment of her daughter, I do believe that it is due more to her illness than anything else."

"I think you're right, Severus," Poppy nodded. "I have some contacts at St. Mungo's, I'll see what I can do. I should be able to get her in there, I know one or two Healers who shall be quite interested in her case. It's not often they see a case where the Muggle doctors are completely baffled."

"Really?" Severus drawled. "I would imagine they'd see one every day, at least."

"Severus!" Poppy chided as she rose from her chair. "Muggles can be quite clever, you know. There have been a lot of fascinating medical discoveries out, particularly in recent years."

"If you say so," Severus said, looking bored. "How long shall Miss Granger be asleep, do you think? I need to leave and check on a few things, but I want to return before she awakes."

"She should be out about four hours," Madam Pomfrey quickly calculated in her head. "I wanted her asleep for a good long while, but not too long."

"Thank you," Severus nodded, standing up and readying himself for another trip through the Floo connection. It wasn't a trip he particularly relished, but he knew it needed to be done.

He only hoped that Hermione wouldn't end up hating him for it.


	12. Chapter 12: Hermione Wakes

A/N: Augh, sorry it took so long to update. But this is a REALLY long chapter. I hope it makes up for it. Thank you for all the reviews! I hope you like. ^^~

**Chapter Twelve: Hermione Wakes**

[but first...Severus's point of view! 3]

While Hermione slept in the Hospital Wing, Severus found himself preparing for travel. He promised himself that he would not confront Mr. Granger as of yet. Soon though, he thought darkly. The man had such a great deal to answer for. But now was Mrs. Granger's time. He had decided while talking to Madam Pomfrey that he had better move the Muggle woman to Hogwarts. He wanted to have that accomplished first so that when charges were brought against Hermione's father, he wouldn't have the temptation to lash out at his wife. If she was as delicate and sickly as Hermione said she was, even a little trauma could potentially kill her.

So Severus found himself trudging down a dim, grungy street in the middle of the afternoon. He had canceled the rest of his classes for today, a decision he had no doubt had thrilled many of his students. Possibly the only children who enjoyed it were the ones in his advanced study group and the ones in NEWT-level Potions. He'd actually seen a first year Hufflepuff crying with joy at the news. Severus rolled his eyes. The Hufflepuff in question was dreadful, and her level of clumsiness almost rivaled Longbottom's. No wonder she was ecstatic at the thought of not having a chance to melt another cauldron or create another explosion.

Hermione did not live in a very nice part of town, he noted as he swung the front gate open. Presumably, her father was at work, leaving her mother home alone. If there was a nurse around, Severus intended to place both a Confundus and Memory Charm on him or her. Nothing wrong with the nurse believing that Mrs. Granger had suddenly been rushed to hospital or placed in hospice. What was the woman's name? He rummaged through his memory of Hermione's school file. Ah, yes. Her parents were Liam and Theresa Granger. Liam was a dentist. He wondered what Theresa had been before she fell ill. Perhaps a dentist as well? Or a schoolteacher? To have produced Hermione, he imagined at least one of them was rather bookish.

Rather than bother with knocking on the front door, he unlocked it with a silent _Alohomora_ and stepped inside. The front hall was dark, but seemed rather clean, if only in a lackluster way. Severus realized it must be that way because Hermione cleaned it. Did she have to clean the whole house? he thought, slightly amazed. More irritation sparked at the thought of the child's father and he kept a close, white-knuckled grip on his wand. Better yet, he cast a Disillusionment over himself. There, that was better. Now if the Muggle was home, he wouldn't notice Severus and hopefully Severus could keep enough control over his temper not to kill the man summarily. Child abusers were the worst sort of creature. He thought with fiendish anticipation of what would happen to such a man in Azkaban. There had been few child molesters sent to wizard prison, but the ones who made it there hardly lasted even a week. The other inmates, desperate criminals though almost all of them were, could not stand the people who hurt children. He had heard it was similar in Muggle prisons.

He followed the muted sounds of music and tinned laughter. Someone must be watching Muggle television, he deduced. Unlike many wizards, Severus had a quite keen grasp on the Muggle world and Muggle technology. He'd had to.

He ducked into a room on the far right side of a dusty hallway. A woman sat up in bed there, propped up by many pillows. Her face was wan and tired-looking, eyes dull. He could see the resemblance to Hermione, though. This must be Theresa. She'd been a pretty woman once, before illness had ravaged her. She was watching a game show, he noticed.

He looked around once more and carefully listened. Nobody around. Nobody but Mrs. Granger. Good. He Disillusioned himself, coming back into view with a soft pop.

Mrs. Granger saw him and her mouth dropped open in shock, ready to scream.

"Please, Mrs. Granger, don't scream," he said swiftly. "I'm a professor at Hogwarts. Hermione's Potions professor. Remember? Professor Snape?"

Mrs. Granger sagged back against the pillows, one hand placed on her chest. Her color had completely drained away, and Severus felt himself start to worry that she would be all right or not.

"Professor Snape, you startled me," she said in a little, breathless voice. She sounded old and quite tired. Severus wasn't much of a Healer, but even he could feel the sickly waves of energy emanating from the woman. She was near death. This move to St. Mungo's came not a moment too soon, he realized, a little startled. Miss Granger was not prone to exaggeration, but he had thought that perhaps she just didn't understand her mother's illness. Now he realized that Mrs. Granger might not even live the school year out, if not given proper treatment.

"Forgive me, madame," he said smoothly, sliding his wand back up his sleeve with a swift, practiced movement. "I felt it easier to come upon you this way, where your neighbors will not see and gossip."

"They do love to gossip," she acknowledged with a weak little laugh. "Especially about gardens. I'm sorry to prattle on, Professor Snape. Are you here because of something to do with Hermione?" Her eyes looked worried, and he rushed to assuage it.

"No," he lied. Well, technically he wasn't talking to her _now_ because of Hermione. If that evil arsehole she called a husband came home early, however...she would learn quite emphatically what her darling husband had been up to with Hermione.

"Miss Granger came to me and asked if I knew of anything in the magical world that could help you, Mrs. Granger," he explained, sitting by her bedside. She looked almost like an old woman, although he'd bet she wasn't much older than he was. Her eyes stayed attentively on him as she strained to listen. "And I think there is something that can. St. Mungo's Hospital."

"Oh, but...I'm not magic, Professor Snape," she protested, struggling to sit back up. "I'm a...a...what do you call them? A Muggle?"

"Yes, you're a Muggle, but you also have a witch for a daughter," he pointed out." And, particularly in a case like this, that makes you eligible to receive treatment."

"Oh," she faltered. Her eyes filled with tears. Severus felt his heart twinge at the look of pathetic hope spreading across the woman's features. She looked so much like Hermione.

"We need to leave now, though," he pointed out. "I don't mean to make this sound like a time-limited offer, madame, but every moment, you grow weaker. The Healers need to see you as soon as possible."

"But what about my husband? He'll miss me." Severus's lips thinned and he pressed them tightly together before they could spill out what he thought about her husband.

"St. Mungo's will send a representative to inform him what has transpired when he comes home from work," he explained patiently. Though he doubted he would be able to-he had to get back before Hermione woke up-he would have liked to see the look on the man's face. That sick look, wondering if his daughter had finally spilled all his rotten secrets. "He can even come and visit you," Severus told the woman.

"Well, all right, Professor," Theresa said, struggling to stand up. He moved smoothly to assist her, using wandless magic to assemble a suitcase of necessities for her.

"Shall we go, then, Mrs. Granger?" he smiled down at her, holding her tightly to one side, her suitcase in the other. Then they Apparated.

Hermione blinked slowly. Her bed felt soft and warm and comfortable. It definitely wasn't the thin mattress she owned at home, she decided, snuggling into its luxurious warmth. She must be at Hogwarts. But it didn't feel like the four-poster in her dormitory...

Like that the memories rushed back in and she blinked, feeling tears start in the corners of her eyes. Well, it was done. Professor Snape knew and now Madam Pomfrey. They knew what her father had done to her, what he still did to her. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She didn't want to wake up and see the looks of pity. They had been blessedly few from her Potions professor, but she didn't trust the bustling, plump nurse.

"Miss Granger, I know you're awake," Snape's smooth, drawling voice said above her. She opened her eyes and his features swam into focus.

"Professor?" she murmured drowsily, her tongue thick and clumsy in her mouth.

"Yes, Miss Granger," he said. "I'm here." His words were oddly reassuring and she closed her eyes for a moment, drawing quiet strength from his presence.

"Madam Pomfrey would like to check you over one last time," he told her. She nodded without opening her eyes. So that's why he'd reverted to calling her by her surname. She supposed it would seem a bit improper for him to refer to her as "Hermione," although she infinitely preferred it. It sounded so much more...friendly.

She felt a cool tingling go through her body as the diagnostic spell was cast. Madam Pomfrey clicked her tongue as the results sprang up in glittering gold lettering.

"Physically, you're fine, Hermione," the Mediwitch announced. Hermione sat up, her head swimming, and blearily peered into the nurse's face.

"Mentally..." a brief look of sadness passed over the woman's face, and that dreaded tinge of pity appeared in her eyes. "Well, you _will_ be fine, let's put it that way."

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said, trying not to sound bored. She knew what was wrong with her. But she refused to go to St. Mungo's and get treatment. Nobody else was allowed to know. She hoped that no one even knew she was in the Hospital Wing; as far as she knew, no one else had come in. Of course, her friends had probably missed her, but if pressed, she could just say that she'd been feeling stressed and overworked and come to Madam Pomfrey for a bit of a checkup and a nap.

"Well, I can't keep you any longer," Poppy said with forced cheer. "Professor Snape, will you take Miss Granger to her dormitory?"

Hermione shot a pleading look toward her Potions professor. No, please no, she silently begged. Not that long, silent walk through the corridors, every student they passed staring in shock and avid curiosity.

"How about I Floo her to my quarters instead, Poppy?" Severus asked. "I don't believe Miss Granger wishes to parade herself through the corridors, especially in the company of such as myself." His words were biting with sarcasm, yet she could sense the concern beneath, warming her heart.

"Of course, Severus, if you think that's best," Poppy said. "You may use my personal Floo." She bustled off into her office and shut the door. They shared simultaneous sighs of relief, then Hermione blushed and Professor Snape laughed.

"Dreadful sometimes, isn't she?" Severus said. "I'll give you a few moments to get dressed." He promptly turned his back.

"Thank you, sir," she said, grateful for the courtesy. She struggled back into her clothes, leaving the hospital gown folded neatly at the bottom of the bed. Her hair was a bushy, bedraggled mess, and she silently gave up on it after a few half-hearted pats. Oh, well. She could comb it when she was back in her room, she supposed.

The journey through the Floo to his office passed much the same as the first time. Hermione bent over, coughing as soot settled over her in a thick cloud. Professor Snape flicked his wand at her and the soot disappeared.

"You don't like traveling by Floo, do you, Hermione," he said with a hint of humor in his voice. She shook her head, clasping her hands in front of her. Her fingers twisted around themselves in anxiety and she stared at the floor. She didn't know what she should do now. Leave and go back to the dormitory? Try and go to her last class of the day? She wasn't sure of the time, but she believed it was still before dinner. Professor Flitwick would be missing her.

"Come this way," Professor Snape told her, leading the way to a small, inconspicuous door set in the back wall of his office. He tapped the doorknob with his wand three times and murmured something Hermione couldn't quite catch. The door opened, letting through a sliver of light.

"My private quarters," he told her as she stepped into the slightly familiar suite of rooms that she had been in the night before. She hadn't realized where the entrance was, and thought herself foolish. Why wouldn't the entrance be from his office? Stupid girl, Hermione berated herself.

"Please, sit down on the couch, Hermione, I'll make us some tea," Professor Snape said, heading into the kitchen area. She perched on the edge of the sofa, clutching her book bag. Her thoughts swam in her mind, refusing to clarify themselves. She felt drained.

Professor Snape came back, balancing a small porcelain tray.

"I didn't know how you liked your tea," he said briefly. She picked up her teacup and added sugar, taking a tiny sip of the hot liquid and staring blindly down into it.

"I saw your mother today," Professor Snape said, startling her deeply. Her teacup shook and she set it back down on the tray, licking her lips. He had settled next to her on the couch, but far enough away that she didn't feel unnerved by his presence.

"My mother? Is she all right? Was-was my father there? Why were you there?" Her questions tumbled out of her mouth, one after the other. Severus placed a calming hand on her shoulder, quelling her.

"She's fine, Hermione," he told her quietly. "Your..._father_ was still at work. I told your mother that she could go to St. Mungo's, that you had informed us of her illness, and finally, I Apparated her and some of her belongings to St. Mungo's. I imagine she's being processed now. Your father will be informed by a St. Mungo's official when he comes home of his wife's whereabouts."

"Oh, _thank you_, sir," Hermione exclaimed, trying to hold back her emotions. She felt relief, excitement, fear, and happiness all coiled together in one big knot.

"It was nothing," Professor Snape mumbled, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Now..." he took a rather long draught of tea and set his own teacup back down. "We need to decide what to do about your well-being."

"Sir?" she said nervously, her body tensing.

"You're almost sixteen years old, Hermione, I'm not going to treat you like you can't make decisions for yourself, or that you don't know what's best. On the other hand, you've been abused since you were a young child and I would venture as an almost definite fact that you really don't know what's best for yourself-at least in certain aspects.

"I know you don't want the Headmaster told, but this secret has to go beyond me and Madam Pomfrey. For one thing, she's a Mediwitch and they're almost obligated to inform the authorities of suspected child abuse cases. Only the fact that you have confided in me and that you're not in immediate danger has dissuaded her. But it won't for long. I'm sorry, Hermione, I know you don't want anyone to know."

Hermione gulped, her eyes stinging. She'd known in the back of her mind that it really couldn't stay a secret. But to hear him lay it out like that, so...bluntly, wounded her somewhere deep inside.

"I would also like to apologize, Hermione," Snape continued, still looking uncomfortable. "I really should not have made you drink that botched potion. It was through no fault of your own that the potion was ruined, and I admit that I let my feelings toward Potter cloud my judgment. Be that as it may, I am glad that this secret is out and that you won't have to go through any of it anymore. Your mother is being treated by the best Healers in the wizarding world. You're out of your father's hands, at least for the present, and I do intend to ensure that you never have to spend time with him again.

"But to do that, you need to tell someone else. If you don't feel that you can verbally express your story, I can provide a Pensieve for you to place those memories into...I know how difficult it was for you to tell me what had happened."

"I would prefer a Pensieve," Hermione managed to say, nearly inaudible. "I can't deny that, sir. But who would have to know?" She looked up, frightened, a pleading look in her eyes. Snape sighed, leaning forward a little.

"The Headmaster, for one. You are a pupil under his care, and you have been harmed. Although that harm did not happen at school, he still needs to know. From there, he shall probably inform a trusted Auror, who can keep things under wraps. At some point, you or the Headmaster may wish to inform your other teachers of at least the basic details, so they know what's been going on and that your work may not be up to as high standards."

An indignant squawk escaped Hermione's lips. No matter what was going on, she had always kept up with her work! _Always_!

She told him so, too, her lips trembling.

"I apologize, Hermione, you're right," Severus said, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "But still. Your teachers would appreciate knowing what's going on with you. You may also wish to tell your friends, although I would recommend only letting those you trust most know."

"Why, sir?" Hermione whispered, although she feared she already knew the answer.

"Children can be cruel, Hermione, you know that," he confirmed it. "I would not have you taunted and tormented for events beyond your control. I don't believe Potter or Weasley are in the not-to-be-trusted category, although, for instance, I would not tell the Weasley _girl_. She gossips incessantly."

"That's true," Hermione acknowledged with a wry quirk of her lips. Ginny didn't mean to, either, which was the problem. She just blurted things out. After a few slightly embarrassing confidences had made the rounds of Gryffindor House, most of Ginny's friends had learned not to confide anything truly intimate with her.

"Now," Severus said, taking his wand out again and looking at the time. "It's almost dinner time. Would you like to eat in the Great Hall? I would encourage you, to dispel rumors, but if you truly feel like you cannot, you can either eat in my quarters or in the common room of your House."

"I think I can eat in the Great Hall," Hermione said after a moment's deliberation. She rose from her seat, smoothing her robes down in a nervous movement.

"I would recommend that at least at dinner, you tell your friends you simply had a headache from nerves and overwork," the Potions professor advised her as he cleared the tea things away. Hermione nodded. She'd already had similar thoughts. The whole of Gryffindor did not need to know her innermost secrets.

"Then let's go," he smiled at her, and her heart tripped over itself. He looked almost like a different person when he smiled, she realized.

He opened the door into his office again and she filed out past him, ready to go to the Great Hall and face her friends.


	13. Chapter 13: Hermione Broods

_A/N: After an impossibly long hiatus, I am indeed reviving this story. Yay! I don't know what all will change, but I'm sure some things will, if only because I have no idea what my original plot-line was. Be that as it may, I will continue and while it won't be updated as quickly as some of my other stories ((namely 'Shattered' and 'Splinters of a Broken Mirror')), it also won't take years and years again, I promise. So without further adieu..._

Only the fact that Professor Snape stayed behind her the entire way let Hermione actually make her way to the Great Hall. The sound of his footfalls behind her was reassuring, and it wasn't until she actually reached the doors that she paused, looking up at him with beseeching eyes.

"It is not too late to change your mind, Miss Granger," he advised in a low murmur. "I will not think less of you for choosing to take your repast elsewhere."

"No, I should do this," she sighed and tugged the door open, slipping inside. Severus waited several minutes, not wishing to come in right after her and start any rumour-mongering.

The hall was impossibly noisy, and Hermione found her headache returning with a vicious throb as she threaded her way to the Gryffindor table, telling Ron to budge up and make room for her. He obeyed with alacrity, a piece of chicken falling out of his mouth as he stared at her with apprehensive awe.

"What?" she asked, striving to remain nonchalant as she filled a plate.

"I thought for sure that slimy bat had cut you up for Potions ingredients!" Ron exclaimed, overly loud. Hermione winced, sure that the Potions professor had caught his insult. She sneaked a glance at the Head Table. Sure enough, Snape was glaring down at the Weasley boy, and she thought she could read his mouth saying "Five points from Gryffindor."

"No, he talked to me and took me to the Hospital Wing," Hermione said calmly as she took a sip of her pumpkin juice. "I had a severe headache from stress and overwork, so Madam Pomfrey gave me a headache reliever and had me take a nap."

"You've been working too hard," Harry said, patting her hand with half of his roll. She pinned a smile to her face as she tried not to retort that she'd just bloody said that. "You need to lay off a bit, Mione. Everyone knows you're a bloody genius, after all." He grinned and Hermione tried not to gag at the sight of his partially masticated food. If this was supposed to revive her appetite, it was all failing miserably.

"I'll keep that in mind," she replied, a bit tartly, but sounding at least relatively normal to herself. No one else had to know her entire world had flipped on its side, did they?

Dinner passed slowly, so slowly that Hermione kept wriggling surreptitiously in her seat and looking at the clock, willing the hands to move faster. When her other friends stood up, Hermione virtually leaped to her feet, announcing "Library!" in a semi-choked voice, and whirling, nearly fleeing out of the Great Hall, so great was her hurry.

_I can't do this,_ she thought as she finally collapsed at the study table in the very back of the library, cozied in a corner by the Restricted Section. Her lungs felt like they were on fire, and her breath wheezed in and out of them until she recovered from her half-mad flight. Thankfully, Madam Pince was in her office and hadn't noticed Hermione's crazed dash, or she'd be giving her a stern telling-off for daring to run in _her_ library. The thought brought on an attack of the giggles, which Hermione muffled in her sleeve, her shoulders shaking until they subsided.

Everything was changing. Too much was changing. She couldn't deny her mum being brought to St. Mungo's was a good change. The best change, really. Maybe Professor Snape could take her there soon, so she could see her mother for herself. But everything else was a horribly dazed muddle in her mind that left her feeling the most vulnerable she'd ever felt in her life. Her secrets had been laid bare for the world to see. Well-only Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey for now, but the fact that more people would know soon made her stomach twist like she was about to sick up.

If she hadn't already had her Time Turner confiscated by Professor McGonagall at the end of her third year, she would have used it now to reverse this whole painful week. Ensured Neville never stumbled and bumped her, her potion never got ruined. If that hadn't happened, no one would know her secret, and wouldn't that be for the best?

_But then your mum would still be lying at home, slowly dying,_ her conscience reminded her with a painful sting. Hermione sighed and propped her chin up with her hands, resting her elbows on the table in a way she normally never did. Then again, today wasn't a normal sort of day, was it?

She wanted her mum to be healthy. To be better. She'd been sick for so long, Hermione had virtually accustomed herself to it. But the thought of her mother not being there anymore, of wasting away from this whatever-it-was, made her eyes swim with unshed tears.

That was it. If nothing else, she could cling to her mother's treatment when the fact of her spilling so many painful secrets grew unbearable. For her mother, she would tell other people. She would bear their pity, she would explain in as calm a way as she could, and she would do her utmost not to cry.

Or so she convinced herself and perhaps she could have managed it at another time. Until she heard footsteps come closer to her table, and Professor Snape's voice say, with much concern: "Miss Granger? Are you all right?"

And Hermione burst into tears.


End file.
